


devil in the details

by puny



Category: Kuroko no Basuke
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossdressing, Humiliation, Lingerie, M/M, akashi is the ideal sugar daddy tbch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3387833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puny/pseuds/puny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akashi and Kuroko discover a shared appreciation for the finer things in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> skip to part ii for porn  
> yeah thats right i know why youre here

Akashi Seijuurou dislikes surprises. 

The world operates whichever way he wishes it to; it always has. The circumstances of his birth, coupled with his singular devotion to victory in all forms, have lent him a degree of control over life that most would consider supernatural but he has come to regard as normal. The things that take him by surprise are few and far between;   
when he comes upon them, they are either incorporated into his future calculations so as to never again be unprecedented, or they are thoroughly quashed. This is a system he regards as tenable and he will continue to employ it until it fails him, and he has unerring confidence that it will not. 

And then it does. 

During the middle of a game, and with Seirin, no less,   
not the first time they've faced off since Rakuzan's loss at the Winter Cup. though it's only a practice match, and he now holds a sincere respect for Seirin he is eagerly anticipating completely annihilating them today. 

There is sweat on his brow and nine or so calculations flashing through his head, innumerable variables flicking past — position, stamina, trajectory, a thousand diverging plans of attack that all converge again at victory — when it happens. He has an eye on Kuroko, as he always must when the phantom player is anywhere on the court, a careful mental pinpoint tracking everywhere he is or could be. Even without his misdirection, he takes up a considerable portion of Akashi's calculations during a game. Akashi glances left, to confirm that Kuroko is indeed where he's supposed to be, and time freezes. 

The scarlet LED of the clock stops ticking down and the match becomes an immobile tableau. something has jammed, like a pebble in the fine spinning cogs of Akashi's brain. The issue is not that he's not where he's expected to be; he is. the issue is that the hem of his jersey has drifted up several inches from his movement, and under the fluorescent gym lighting Akashi can see an incongruous line of sky blue along the ridge of his hip. He's slightly under twelve feet away, close enough that Akashi is sure he is seeing neither boxer nor brief, but a lacy strap that has somehow ridden up past the elastic band of his Seirin shorts. It's perhaps two fingers thick and a shade bluer than Kuroko's hair. 

He discards the observation for later consideration, which takes an entire half second and skews several of his plans. Akashi throws himself farther into the game than usual to make up for it, smothering any lingering confusion with exertion. Rakuzan secures its victory, 5-2 against Seirin since their first, but he cannot take any satisfaction in shaking the other captain's hand. The teams bow. Kuroko wipes his brow with the hem of his shirt, saying something to a teammate, and though Akashi is very purposely not watching he notices that whatever he saw before is gone, disappeared beneath the elastic band of the shorts. Were he anyone else, he would think his previous observation a mistake, a mirage, a hallucination, but Akashi Seijuurou does not hallucinate. 

He does not hallucinate, but he does, apparently, obsess about his ex-teammate's undergarment choices. he cannot think of anything to do about it, or any reason why he should, or even why it matters at all to him. By all logic, it should not. Kuroko's private business is his own, and were it anyone else, Akashi realizes, he would likely not concern himself with the issue at all. But he is concerned– or perhaps fascinated? He cannot pretend his curiosity is purely scientific, not when the thought of tight blue lace keeps running through his mind — damp with sweat from exertion, the snap of the elastic, perhaps slipped off discreetly once everyone else has gone to shower. Perhaps left on. 

Maybe "fixated" is the word he's looking for. 

He gets far less than his customary eight hours of sleep that night. 

-

Akashi is perfectly familiar with the scientific method. While one observation may be sufficient fuel for a variety of unexpected fantasies, it is insufficient evidence for any kind of conclusion. 

He calls Aida Riko and invites her team to play his own. She agrees, swearing up and down that "we'll cream you guys this time round, Conqueror Eye or whatever be damned." 

"I appreciate the sentiment," he says, smiling, "but I will not be personally participating in this game." 

"Whuh?" 

"Good day, Aida-san," he says, and hangs up. 

-

True to his word, he makes himself comfortable on the bench. It is unheard of. The coaches are confused, and his teammates even more so, but he explains clearly that he would like an outsider's view of Rakuzan for once, that it would lend him useful insight to improving their plays. They are nonplussed, but it's merely a practice match. The motive is not entirely false; he does gather some ideas. Mainly, though, he observes Kuroko, the phantom sixth Miracle, his former teammate– and Kuroko does in fact treat him to a repeat performance, a faint powder-pink strip of color, visible for a split second, and likely only to someone with an eye like Akashi's. He substitutes players and subtly directs plays so that Seirin has to make maximum use of Kuroko, and by the end he's exhausted and lax about readjusting his uniform. Akashi catches two more glimpses of pastel pink and, briefly, a flash of pink cloth that the strap must be attached to, stretched flat against the sweaty plane of his mons pubis. All too soon, the buzzer sounds. 

"Sorry, Akashi," says someone. He looks up and realizes Rakuzan has lost by a small margin. His players are wincing, obviously expecting his wrath to come down upon them. "It won't happen again." 

"It's perfectly all right," he assures them. Across the court, Kuroko wipes Pocari off the corner of his mouth. He's laughing at some joke, comfortable and animated despite the secret that Akashi's relatively sure only he knows about. 

"It is?" Nebuya gapes, eyes bugging out. Hayama elbows him in the gut. 

"Ah, Akashi?" Reo looks sweaty but concerned, slumping down next to him with a towel round his neck. "Are you... feeling all right?" 

"I'm very well, Reo, thank you for asking." He knows they're shooting bewildered looks at each other behind his head, but he's busy replaying every flash of pink in his mind's eye. "I thought it was an excellent match." 

-

He does not need Kuroko's measurements, not with the shape of his hips so fresh in his memory. He taps Kuroko's address out on the keyboard and confirms the payment, satisfied with his selection. 

-

It takes a week. There are no doorbells on the Seijuurou estate: the butler informs him discreetly of a visitor by the name of Kuroko. 

Akashi is pleased; he wasn't sure Kuroko would manage to discover the source of the gift, nor that he'd come to confront him about it. He'd have been content with the knowledge of Kuroko wearing it at all.

"Shall I show him in?" 

"Of course. And Tanaka?" 

"Yes?" 

"this room will not be disturbed." 

"Certainly, sir." 

Kuroko is shown into Akashi's suite, looking neat and incongruous in his school uniform.

"Hello," Akashi greets him, and puts down his pen. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Kuroko?" 

"I wanted to thank Akashi-kun," he says calmly. 

"For what?" 

"Akashi-kun," Kuroko says disapprovingly, "it's rather rude to plead ignorant of your own generosity while I'm trying to express gratitude." 

He doesn't suppress his faint smile as he gets up and comes around the desk. "You're quite right. I apologize, Kuroko. Can I make it up to you?" 

Kuroko looks down at the foot or so of space between them. "I think a present deserves to be unwrapped, don't you?" 

"I quite agree," he says, "but if it's yours, I think you should be the one to unwrap it." 

Kuroko meets his eyes. "Is the door locked?" 

"I like my privacy," Akashi says evenly, clasping his hands behind his back. "We will not be interrupted."

Kuroko toes off his shoes and pushes them neatly to the side. His feet, socked in fine sheer grey, come to rest on the Turkish carpet. His hands come to his neck next, loosening the loops of his tie, freeing button after button until he can shrug out of the white shirt and drop it on the floor beside him. His eyes are lowered as he frees his belt and unfastens his fly, stepping out of his slacks. 

Akashi feels a deep, genuine satisfaction with his doings, the likes of which he has not felt for a long time. The set — stockings, garterbelt, and panties — is fashioned from a fine grey silk that goes even better with Kuroko's icy eyes and hair than he'd expected. The stockings are translucent, foglike against white thighs. Tiny silver clips fasten them to a garterbelt, embroidered with sprays of minuscule silver flowers, that circles Kuroko's waist right beneath his navel. The panties are the most delicate of all, a satiny pair with soft, silvery Italian lace inset at the sides and front. Kuroko is knobbly and sparsely muscled, but the lingerie looks right on his thin frame; he looks delicate. No lack of presence could keep Akashi from noticing him now. 

Kuroko looks back up at Akashi, unabashed except for the faint pink flush of his cheekbones. "Thank you," he says. "They're lovely." 

"No," muses Akashi, "no, not at all. Thank you, Tetsuya." _You're lovely._

"I think," he says, the flush more pronounced now, "we should, ah. Thank each other some more." He pads forward, close enough to reach out and take the silken tip of Akashi's tie between his fingers. 

Akashi Seijuurou has impeccable self-control, but there's really only so much even he can take. He stoops for a second to get his hands round the backs of Kuroko's thighs, picking him up in one smooth motion. Kuroko yelps and locks arms around Akashi's neck as he lifts him onto the dark wood of the desk so that Kuroko's thighs bracket his own hips. Akashi finally allows himself to touch, as slowly as he's been wanting to for weeks now: fingertips against the soft stretch of the stockings, brushing the delicate eyelash hem of the lace, warming against smooth-shaven skin. 

He hooks two fingers under a garter strap and Kuroko shivers. Akashi looks up, up at the way Kuroko's lips hang open a millimeter or two, at the hot wide look in his eyes. They are very close. 

"Akashi-kun," he murmurs, "you give good presents." 

"I do," he agrees, and at long last kisses Kuroko Tetsuya.


	2. Chapter 2

Kuroko is quite possibly going to _die._

Akashi Seijuurou — _the_ Akashi Seijuurou — is licking his way up the inside of Kuroko's thigh. It's nice, but then — then Akashi sucks on the tendon high inside his leg, where thigh meets crotch, biting it delicately, and Kuroko chokes on his own tongue. His dick is trapped inside the panties, which were tight to begin with but are now unbearable; his hands are clenched on the edge of the desk, his shins resting on Akashi's back. He knows, somehow, he's not supposed to touch himself, the order implied but strong as concrete. But, god, he _wants._

"Akashi," he says, unsteadily. 

"Yes, Tetsuya?" He looks up, polite and collected even when he's just been nibbling on a scantily clad ex-teammate. 

"Could you..." he laspses into embarrassment. 

"If you want anything," Akashi says, running a single fingertip down the ridge of his dick through the panties, "just ask for it." 

Kuroko groans and leans back, his head thunking on the wooden desk. Akashi cups him with a hand but doesn't move it a millimeter, just holds kuroko's hips down against the desk. It takes all his willpower not to writhe. The many straps and bands of the lingerie shift and pull against him with every movement; he'd worn the set to school that day, tucked away under his loose uniform, stomach lurching with the thrill. He doesn't know when Akashi noticed his habit, or even how he had, but when Kuroko had slit open the box and pulled out the garments their quality and tastefulness had meant only one possible sender. He remembers, suddenly, the match that Akashi sat out of, the way he'd had to pretend to not notice Akashi's eyes tracking him the whole game. He'd gone home that night and come hard, once, twice, just thinking about that gaze. He gasps when Akashi reaches back, hooks a finger under the leg of the panties and snaps the elastic hard against Kuroko's ass. 

"Anything you want," he repeats, kissing a patch of skin framed by the curve of the garterbelt. 

"Then," Kuroko says, because he's a minute or two away from coming right there in the expensive lingerie, "you could fuck me." 

Akashi stops moving. 

A couple seconds later Kuroko feels a hand on his arm, pulling him gently up off the desk until he's sitting eye to eye with Akashi. 

"Are you sure?" he asks, and the low careful roll of his voice goes directly to Kuroko's crotch. He nods, looking down at the lean lines of his ex-captain, the tent in his slacks. He's sure. 

"We'll need—" 

"No we won't." Kuroko can feel his blush returning. 

"Tetsuya." Akashi's frowning. "It's important to—" 

"No," he interrupts, "I mean, I know, but it's— I, um. I. Prepared." He is, perhaps, going to die of embarrassment before they ever actually get to having sex. 

Akashi doesn't respond, just gives Kuroko a burning, appraising look before pulling him off the desk completely, turning him round so that he's facing it with his back to Akashi. He braces himself on the wood, biting his lip. Akashi places his palm on the small of Kuroko's back and slides it down, agonizingly slow, past the edge of the panties, until his fingers find where Kuroko is already slick, where he's worked himself open in preparation. Kuroko wills himself not to squirm, face hot with embarrassment. 

"Tetsuya," says Akashi's voice beside his ear, "you never fail to surprise me." 

"You are not the only one who's been anticipating this, Akashi-k— _ah,_ " he manages, voice mostly composed, until Akashi slides two fingers into him. 

"Then I suppose I'll have to indulge you," he says, but Kuroko's not listening anymore because he's crooking those clever knuckles just so, rubbing something, and Kuroko doesn't think he's been this hard in his entire life. Blood rushes in his ears as Akashi adds a third finger. He feels like such a slut, rutting backwards, hypersensitive to the high tight stockings round his legs. He realizes, breath hitching, that he still hasn't even been touched. 

Akashi removes his fingers soon and with a hand on his shoulder gently but firmly pushes Kuroko's upper body onto the desk. He nudges his legs apart as well, Kuroko letting himself be arranged. Akashi takes his sweet time, running hot palms up the outsides of Kuroko's thighs, kissing his shoulderblade, and, finally, tugging the panties down the flat tight curve of his ass. 

Kuroko hides his burning face in his arms at the sensation of being on display. He's spread and shaven and still in underwear that's probably worth more than a year of his allowance; Akashi pulled the panties away just enough that he's exposed but still mostly in them, so that his cock is trapped and neglected and the lube on his hole is cooling in the air. It's humiliating and uncomfortable and he's turned on beyond belief. 

A fly unzips somewhere behind him. He clutches the opposite edge of the desk, fine mahogany smooth beneath his sweaty palms, and closes his eyes. He had homework today. Oh, god, he blew off study hall to have sex with one of the best, richest, most terrifying basketball players in the country. He imagines explaining it to Touroku-sensei and has to bite down on a manic laugh. 

The ridiculous train of thought is derailed when something presses against him, making him twitch and gasp. 

"Tetsuya?" 

"Please," he says, because he's already laid as bare as he can possibly get, and then Akashi's pressing his way in, spreading Kuroko wide with a sensation so much more intimate than fingers, and it's so hot, so much, too much— and then he's in. He gives Kuroko time to adjust, with a hand placed calmingly on his hipbone. Kuroko breathes, slowly, grows used to the feeling of being pinned, the length of Akashi burning and unbelievably hard, pressing deeper in him than he could've imagined. 

"May I move?" he asks, and Kuroko's distantly glad that even he sounds less composed than usual. 

"Yes," gasps Kuroko, and then his world narrows to the feeling of Akashi in him, Kuroko bent over and spread wide as Akashi moves faster, picking up to a steady rhythm. There's little enough lube that his asshole is hot with the friction of Akashi's cock, pounding him with fast, full strokes. The paperweight on the desk wobbles in time with them. His panting gives way to a moan as Akashi shifts his angle and hits that low hot spot again. His own dick pulses in the thin silk of the panties, the only warning before his orgasm hits, and hard. He cries out for a long, sweet second, heat washing over him as Akashi continues to fuck him, his toes curling in the soft grey stockings. It's still wringing its way out of him when Akashi finishes too. Slick warmth floods him as Akashi gives a last thrust, Kuroko panting and clenching. He can feel Akashi's breath warm against his sweaty back as they both reel in the aftermath of their orgasms. Kuroko's vision comes back in bits and pieces and Akashi pulls out, pulling the panties back up and kissing his spine as he does so. He shudders a little at the feeling of liquid dripping out of him. It's entirely gross and yet still chokingly obscene. 

Akashi speaks first. "Are you all right, Tetsuya?" 

He nods, still not quite trusting his own mouth. Better than all right. Fantastic. Akashi gives him a hand up and helps him stand on jellied knees. 

"Do you want anything?" he asks, guiding Kuroko around the desk he just fucked him to kingdom come over to sit in the leather chair. "Water?" 

Kuroko licks his lips. "Please." 

He shivers a little, sweat cooling on his back and shoulders. Akashi notices — because what doesn't Akashi notice? — and removes his jacket, draping it over Kuroko. He blinks, bemused, and Akashi kisses him soft and light before he leaves. 

Well. He tugs the jacket around himself, glad that if he's going to have life-endingly good sex with a telepathic millionaire it's at least a courteous millionaire. His head is still spinning with the endorphins, elated even with the discomfort in his underwear. When he looks down, the front of the panties are the soaked mess he'd been expecting, but something else is off. He frowns. The fine silver garter clip, worked to resemble a tiny flower, has snapped where it was sewn to the satiny strap. Kuroko turns it over in his fingers, distressed. He can sew it back on, but his needlework will be nowhere as fine as the original. 

"What's wrong?" Akashi has reentered, a glass of ice water beading in each hand. He sets both down and kneels in front of Kuroko. 

"This," he says, and he's unable to suppress a little thrill at the gentle way Akashi takes Kuroko's hands in his own to look at the fastening. 

"Hmm," he sighs. "Well, I suppose there's only one thing we can do about that." 

"What's that?" Kuroko asks, and when he looks up at his face, Akashi's smiling. 

"Buy you something new to wear." 

Kuroko smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had an eight page lit paper to write but dont you agree this was a better use of my time


End file.
